


Expedience

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto finds out some things that change how he thinks about Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expedience

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=lgbt_fest)[**lgbt_fest**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=lgbt_fest) challenge. Featherstonehaugh, for those who haven't lived in the UK, is generally pronounced 'Fanshaw' in the south of England, and that's how I intend it to 'sound' in this story. My thanks to my husband for the beta. All mistakes are my own. To the beloved friend who created this prompt (and whom I won't name until I'm sure they don't mind being linked to this effort), I hope that I did it some modicum of the justice it deserved.

Jack isn't stupid. He's been required to be a student of time, which means that he has a smattering of history. He was once a Time Agent, which means that he's been taught to blend in, even though he'd struggled with that more than almost any of his fellow students. He was and is a con man, which means that he understands the psychology of his marks and the societal mores in which they operate. And all of this, every last bit of it, means – used to mean – that he could always figure out how to get out of a bad situation.

In theory.

In practice, he barely scraped through that training test with a minimal passing grade – his life. Five tries later, he passed it with just enough points to qualify for the Agency, and that was only because his grades in Temporal Mechanics, Xenophysiology and Charm And Deception were off the charts. He cheated on the Temporal Mechanics class, of course. His teacher loved a good, solid, desk-destroying buggering. And he had the experience to thank for a perfect score on the Xenophysiology exam, free of cheating.

So as he experiences his first death by lynching, twisting and convulsing in the wind, Jack wonders just how he could have been so stupid as to forget the thrashings he received – verbal and physical – from the senior Agent in charge of his cultural history practicum concerning the mores of nineteenth century Earth. But his last thought before that white light of asphyxiation makes him wonder if there might actually be something beyond the nothingness of death is of the boy they'd caught him with. Just a poor kid peddling his body for food, he'd been willing, if not expert, and Jack had had an itch. He never even knew the kid's name. He probably never will.

*****

There is no real need to document Jack's defiance in the Torchwood archives, but Ianto is finding it informative to delve into the copious records. They take up an entire wall. To be precise, they occupy a bricked-in area guarded by a perception filter and dimensional compression technology, which really means that the shelves that store them from floor to twelve-foot ceiling take up five hundred square metres of floor space when rendered uncompressed. Ianto wonders if he can manage to create some sort of time bubble so that he won't be missed as he gorges himself on this form of Jack.

He reads the reports of Jack's lynching in 1893, including Jack's laconic account. This last was clearly written under the direction and watchful eye of Alice Guppy. All Jack's reports of his life from before his recruitment read that way. Ianto wonders if Jack will ever actually tell him about those times. He also wonders what it was like to live in Atlanta back then.

*****

David is lovely. He's young and beautiful and sweet in a way that makes Jack want to kiss him and kill him, all at the same time. But really, the killing part is mellowing out because David's lots of fun. They're walking back to their room from the first good meal either of them has had since they set sail for England. It's a beautiful night, and Jack is happy. They'll take the train back from Portsmouth tomorrow, but tonight there's a respite from asinine sodomy laws at sea (which they flouted on a regular basis, using as many different surfaces as possible) and the horrifying Guppy, who awaits their reports.

David objects to Jack taking his hand in public, but Jack turns all of his calculated charm on the man and insists. David is loud in his objection, and proclaims, "I am not a sodomite!"

Jack stares at him, wondering what just happened and why David looks so terrified, when the first blow lands from behind. What hurts more than the litany of kidney punches, blows to the spine and kicks to the groin from the three attackers is the look in David's eyes as he rains bone-breaking blows on Jack's face.

David does not slam Jack's head against the brick wall, but he is watching when it happens, his face twisted into something Jack doesn't recognise. 

Jack's world turns red-black. He dies with David's hate-mutilated face burning through the concussion stars.

The next day, David doesn't show up at the train station. He isn't at Torchwood Three, either. His beaten body washes up three days later in Portsmouth. His penis has been cut off.

Emily Holroyd suspends Jack for a month for his carelessness, makes sure that nobody gives him any work within fifty miles of Cardiff and charges him for the training of David's replacement.

Jack casts his eyes on the paper Holroyd has placed with such calculated casualness on the edge of her desk. He does nothing to acknowledge the words he sees: _Contracted agent David Robinson had to be disposed of to keep Captain Jack Harkness' immortality secret. Robinson's death was made to look as though he'd been attacked along with Harkness._

A week later, Jack is in Glasgow, being shot to death by a man he propositioned. It had all been in good fun, Jack knowing that the guy was probably going to turn him down, but the party was for people interested in the avant-garde. Everyone was bragging or joking about their conquests of people of all sexes – yes, there was much talk of sex with hermaphrodites – so Jack thinks as his left testicle is atomised by a bullet that there is no reason at all for this to be happening. Not even in the context of his cultural history training. As he hears the splatter of his brains against the wall, he begins to understand why so many people hide themselves here. He dies thinking that he won't spend any more time in Scotland, if he can help it.

*****

It takes a lot to make Ianto feel sick, after all he's seen, done and cleared up, but he has to stop and look at something else so that he doesn't vomit in the archives after reading the graphic descriptions of Jack's deaths in Portsmouth and Glasgow in 1900.

He tries not to think of the pain still lingering in his midsection after their last mission.

Jack didn't mention the bullet to the stomach in his Glasgow report, but Dr. McGregor from Torchwood Two did in the autopsy report. Thinking about the autopsy again nearly sends Ianto for the bin, except that there isn't one in this part of the archives – platform nine and three quarters, they call it, he and Jack. Ianto swallows the bile before it can come up, and refuses to remember the bit about Jack coming back whilst McGregor was removing his heart.

*****

It's 1918. To the men, Jack's batman is dying in his arms. To Jack, it is his lover. This is the man who held him every night for a week three years ago when the news of Mary's death came through. This is the man who dove on him two weeks ago, throwing them both bodily into the foxhole six feet from where they had been – from where the shell landed and exploded.

So when Jamie asks Jack to kiss him, Jack doesn't hesitate. He loves Jamie, and he can't stand to lose him, but he's going to. In deference to Jamie's fear of discovery, Jack has kept public kisses rare and very chaste. This is the first time he's kissed Jamie's lips in public. Jack's doing it the way Hardy supposedly kissed Nelson, but Jamie opens his mouth against Jack's, pouring his last bit of energy into this risk.

Jack holds Jamie as close as the wounds will allow and pours himself into the kiss until Jamie whimpers. He pulls back and gazes into those green eyes.

"I love you, Jack," Jamie whispers.

"I love you, too," Jack manages through muddy tears.

From somewhere behind him, Jack hears, "Bloody queers!"

It's Featherstonehaugh, of course. Never has he met such a wizened old man in such young skin, or so nasty a closet case. He keeps the anger away from his face because he doesn't want Jamie to suffer in his last moment.

"Don't worry, Jack." Jamie's voice is faint and laboured. "Not your fault.... He's an idiot."

There's a stirring behind Jack, which includes the sound of an idiot being restrained with a hissed admonishment of, "For God's sake, shut up, Featherstonehaugh!"

"Stay with me, Jamie."

"Not this time, my dear." Jamie's words are slowing and fading. "Got to ... go.... The lull ... is ... almost ... gone...."

Jack rocks him, crooning love and sorrow because he knows that the brain still lives for a few minutes after death and that the hearing persists. He won't let anyone take Jamie until he's sure that the man is really gone, and he can't tell the others why. Luckily, his Lieutenant keeps them all back.

When at last he can lead his men out of the trench and towards the German line, he runs full tilt, not the least bit surprised when he feels a bullet rip through his neck from behind. He's sure, as life leaves him again, that Featherstonehaugh will die that day. If the Germans don't take care of it, his men will. He can hear them cursing already. They like Jack, and they loved Jamie. It's a great pity that he'll have to be reassigned. He wonders, as he starts to look for Jamie in the darkness, how long he'll have to spend in a morgue, a coffin or a grave before he'll be able to sneak away. He really hates coming back buried.

*****

Ianto rarely weeps for Jack. He loves him, but he can't afford to be too sentimental about it. And it would be especially bad if Jack caught him now, reading the most achingly personal Torchwood report he's ever seen in Jack's hand, so he resists the small but nagging urge to break his rule.

He looks at his watch and sees that he's been reading Jack's history for five hours. The death in the second Battle of the Marne is the seventy-fifth he's found. It is the twenty-seventh due directly to Jack being openly expressive of his sexual involvement with and interest in other men.

He has also found a nasty scattering of reports about altercations involving words like, 'queer', 'poof', 'faggot' (mostly in America), 'cocksucker' and 'bender'. Considering that Torchwood rarely bothers with routine, non-alien dust-ups involving its personnel, Ianto begins to conclude that perhaps he's been unfair to Jack.

He winces, though he's not sure if that's due to the pain from his bruised spleen or the memory of their argument.

 

> _"Look, I don't want you to stay tonight, alright? I can manage on my own." Ianto takes the bag from Jack._
> 
> "The doctor said you'd need someone, and—"
> 
> "Fuck the doctor! I hurt, and I need to be alone!"
> 
> "You've got a bruised spleen, and you need an I.V.!"
> 
> "I know how to set one up! Even if I didn't already have the fucking needle in!" Ianto brandishes his forearm at Jack.
> 
> "Ianto, I'm your ... your...."
> 
> "My what, Jack? You can't even say what you are to me in my own flat, and you want me to be 'less uptight about us'?"
> 
> "That's different! I don't do ... um...." Jack waves his hand back and forth between them.
> 
> "Relationships? You are constantly talking about this former boyfriend and that former set of twins. And what about all those files under 'Jack Harkness: Family' that even I don't have clearance to access?"
> 
> Jack moves his mouth but no sound comes out.
> 
> Ianto staggers under a wave of pain and is forced to accept Jack's help. "Not the sofa." He is taken far aback by the sound of his own vulnerability. "Bed."
> 
> Jack helps him with an attentiveness that Ianto can only describe as tender.
> 
> He's not sure that that makes things better, just now. He waits until Jack hangs the I.V. bag on the stand they got from the Hub and then holds out his hand for the line.
> 
> Jack sighs and gives it to him. "Ianto, I—"
> 
> "You go on about how I should be out and proud, but where are you? You think your flirting and outrageous stories make you some sort of icon of the Gay Pride movement?" Ianto attaches the I.V. line to the catheter and winces as he pushes just a bit wrong.
> 
> "I'm not into movements! Besides, I've never been ashamed of who I am."
> 
> Ianto looks at him sharply. "No? You talk about how you were once a 'very bad man' and how I 'wouldn't have liked you'. And this is after you fed my fiancée to a pterodactyl and then shot what was left of her." It's a low blow, and Ianto knows he should wince, but he doesn't.
> 
> "You know what I mean." Jack's voice is low and even, the signal that he's at the end of his tolerance.
> 
> "You know why I can't tell anyone about us." Ianto is losing his strength, and hates it. "Why did you insist? When do you ever come out and say you're with a man?"
> 
> "Like you said, I say it all the time." Jack folds his arms over his chest.
> 
> "You say you _were_ with a man. You introduce me as a member of your staff, if you introduce me at all."
> 
> "And you introduce me as your boss! I don't see the difference."
> 
> "I do that because that's how you want it." Ianto really is having trouble with the vulnerability in his voice. Damn his spleen! Except that he'd like to keep it. "Or at least I thought it was until you told me to take a risk." Ianto's spleen is not the only thing that hurts. His face hurts. His back hurts. His knee hurts where they kicked it. This whole conversation hurts.
> 
> "I thought you'd be happier being yourself." Jack sounds lame. Not just in the rude sense, but truly as though the legs have been knocked out from under him and he can't walk.
> 
> "And instead I got attacked when I kissed you on the carousel."
> 
> "We both got attacked."
> 
> "No, we didn't. You distanced yourself, remember? Made a joke of my kissing you."
> 
> "I thought they'd go away if they saw I didn't mind."
> 
> "But they didn't, so I ended up being thrown off the carousel and bashed before I could breathe again or you could get to me."
> 
> "I'm so sorry, Ianto." It's almost a whisper, filled with shame.
> 
> "Look, have you ever been gay-bashed? Or do you just check your wrist strap so it can tell you when to capitulate? And couldn't you do that for me next time you tell me to 'let it all hang out'?"
> 
> "Ianto...."
> 
> "Please, just ... I can't.... Just go."
> 
> Jack looks at a loss. He starts to speak. He stops. He leans towards Ianto. He stops. He starts to turn. He stops, turns around and kisses Ianto on the forehead, as though flying desperately under the radar before the flak can get him. "Call me if you need me." He hurries out the door.

  
Ianto had awakened in the middle of the night, restless and in pain. He'd got up to check the flat to see if Jack had let himself back in and was sleeping on the sofa. He'd been both relieved and disappointed to find that Jack wasn't there. But there had been a piece of paper slipped under the door with Jack's handwriting on it. Ianto resolved then that as soon as he could pick it up, he'd investigate whatever clue Jack had left.

He'd managed to pick it up half an hour later, and that had led him to the Hub at 0300, and to the codes to disable the perception filter, to open the brick door and to expand the vault holding some of Jack's Torchwood files. Not the Family ones, though. The paper had said, _I'll show you those another time_.

There are footsteps behind him. "Have fun brooding on a roof?"

"Several. Took a swim off the Barrage, too."

"Drunken Blowfish?"

"Drunken kid trying to push another one into the Bay. I intervened."

"Clumsily. Did you die?"

"No, actually. Just bruised. And it was fun calling the police from the Bristol Channel."

"Ah. Well. Long as you had fun, that's all right, then."

"How long have you been here, and where's your I.V.?"

"Five hours, and back at the flat."

"No, it's not."

"What are you talking about?"

"I went back to yours after Andy Davidson picked up the ASBO kids. You weren't there, and neither was my note."

Ianto sighs.

"You never can stay away from this place."

Ianto turns at the forlorn tone of Jack's voice. "Neither can you."

"Yes I could." Jack puts a hand on Ianto's shoulder, forestalling a response. "I'm sorry for putting you in danger, Ianto. I never was much good at cultural history."

"And you've never understood labelism." A sharp pain makes Ianto gasp.

"You need to be in bed."

"Can't ... can't manage your den. Flat?"

They struggle up the stairs. Jack seats Ianto at a workstation while he fetches the I.V. from the autopsy bay, and then they're on the invisible lift.

Ianto leans against Jack because if he doesn't, he'll fall off the lift. The very thought of that gives him enough pain to make him feel sick.

"Hey.... Need a hospital?"

"No. Just a bed and no stairs."

"Good thing I parked illegally."

The SUV is as close to the water tower as it can be, given the barriers, but it looks leagues away. "Yeah."

Jack hooks a careful arm around Ianto, supporting him as much as he can. "Come on, Ianto. Foot by foot."

_How many times has he said that in his life?_ Ianto wonders. It hurts, but he wraps an arm around Jack, as much for comfort as for stability. Whose comfort becomes less clear when he feels a hitch in Jack's breath and sees the twitch of a muscle in Jack's cheek. He kisses it. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't know."

Jack shakes his head. "No, it's my fault."

Ianto's reply is postponed by the PC investigating the SUV. "Is this yours?" she demands.

"Torchwood," says Jack, holding up his ID.

"Yeah, you've got it marked all over the vehicle. You still can't park here."

"My friend's been hurt. He can't walk very far."

"You taking him to A&amp;E?"

"Already been," says Ianto.

"And you are...?"

"He's Ianto Jones. My partner."

Ianto isn't sure whether he's passing out because of the pain or because of what Jack said, but either way, he can't stand up anymore. The next thing he knows, he's being carried and his hearing is winking in and out as he's fussed over. He hates being embarrassed. But he does rather like the fussing, if he's honest whilst he's going unconscious.

He wakes up in his bed. It's dark out, and the only light comes from the window. Jack is standing there, gazing at the sky.

"You—" Ianto's mouth is dry, despite the I.V.. He swallows. "You can go brood on the roof, if you want. I'm all right."

"I just came back from there." Jack turns, and even in the skewed light of moon and street, Ianto notices something is missing.

"Where's your wrist strap?"

Jack grins, then, and points to Ianto's wrist.

Ianto raises his hand and sees the strap wrapped around it, I.V. line and all.

"It's got med tech," crows Jack. "It'll monitor your heart, brain, blood oxygen, electrolyte, sugar and hormone levels. I like your hormone levels," he adds, with a leer.

"Happy to provide satisfactory service, Sir."

Jack giggles. "It also monitors I.V.s and communicates with my mobile when I want it to."

Ianto gazes at the wrist strap. It's warm and weathered, and it oozes _Jack_. And though it doesn't quite fit, it's the coolest thing he's ever worn. "Can I keep it?"

Jack snorts. "No, but don't take it off. Your I.V. line's running through it in kind of a funny way." He sits on the bed with great care and offers Ianto the end of a straw. "It's just water. Well, mostly."

"What's the other bit?"

"Biehne dust."

"Bean dust?"

"It's the remnants of an old and important moon. It's known throughout the galaxy to provide excellent health and wellbeing to anyone who ingests it. A sachet of it dropped through the Rift last night."

"Is that why you were on the Barrage?"

"No, that's why I was on my second roof."

"Ah."

Jack cradles the back of Ianto's head. "Drink up, Ianto. Please."

Ianto looks up at Jack's anxious face and takes a sip through the straw. "Doesn't taste like anything."

"It has no taste or odour. But it is blue." Jack reaches over to press something on the wrist strap.

Ianto blinks in the brightness and sees the electric blue of the water. It doesn't look like any food dye he's ever seen. It's beautiful in an alien way that hurts his head. "Lights off?"

Jack presses the spot on the wrist strap again and the room goes back to dark.

Ianto lets his eyes adjust before he takes the straw between his lips again. The water is welcome. He's never understood how he could feel thirsty whilst on an I.V., but he always does. And then the wrist strap beeps and Ianto starts, nearly upsetting the glass in Jack's hand. "If John Hart shows up on a hologram, I'll kill you 'til you die for good."

Jack gives a feeble laugh and strokes down Ianto's arm to the strap. "It's just telling us that your I.V. is done. I'll disconnect you."

"Shouldn't you have the lights on for that?"

"Nah. I can see in the dark." Jack is gentle and careful. He doesn't joke, he just snaps something open, unwinds something else, disconnects the line from Ianto's arm and pulls it clear of the strap. He looks down at Ianto's forearm, letting it drape along his own. "How do you feel?"

"Like an idiot. But better."

Jack strokes Ianto's arm. "I liked it when you kissed me on the carousel."

"I was surprised when you made us go on it. Why was that?"

"I'd never been on one. My mother used to show us stories about them, but...."

"You've lived on earth for a hundred and forty years and you've never been on a carousel? Not even the one that lives right over the Hub every year?"

"Hey, lots of people who live in London have never been to the Tower, right? I just ... didn't get around to it."

"So why now? Or then? Or whenever it was...?"

"I wanted to do something fun. With you."

"The last time I went on a carousel, I was seven. It was the best family outing we ever had. No fighting, no judgement, no-one got sick. But yesterday ... with you ... I haven't felt like that in a long time."

Jack smiles. Ianto can see the teeth catching every photon of available light, but even without Jack's trademark grille, there's enough light to illuminate that beautiful face. Jack is laughing quietly, bending over Ianto's hand as he raises it. He doesn't quite kiss it. It's as though he doesn't know what to do with it. "Me, neither."

Ianto is glad of the darkness, because he doesn't want to see the tears just behind Jack's eyes. Hearing them is bad enough.

Jack squeezes Ianto's hand and pulls himself back from the brink. "You're right, you know. About the capitulation. I did a little digging through this thing." He taps the wrist strap. "Gave myself a refresher on the third roof. You, uh, know about some of the ho-mo-pho-bic stuff I encountered, right?"

For the very first time since he met the man, Ianto is struck by the idea that Jack is a foreigner – one who doesn't speak the local language naturally. "I do now."

"I could never understand why people were so upset about two men getting together. Especially when they didn't seem to give a damn about two women doing that. I never understood religion. Not 'til I tasted your coffee, anyway."

"Go on."

Jack loses the cheeky grin. "I got killed a lot. At first I didn't mind. I was glad my life was ending. But then I figured out that I couldn't stay dead, and the way I got killed was never good."

"And you lost people you ... liked."

Jack nods. "Got a real bollocking from Torchwood almost every year, too. They really hated having to cover up for my deaths."

"I noticed a drop-off in official reprimands after about 1929."

"I started flaunting it less."

Ianto snorts and then, "Aa-haa! That fucking hurts!"

"That'll teach you to scoff at me!"

Ianto bites down another snort. "Bastard!"

Jack opens up the wrist strap and taps some bits of it that Ianto can't see. "Just stepping up the pulse ox. This thing'll tell me if your spleen goes from bruised to fractured."

"And we need a new medic ... why?"

"Do you really want me removing your spleen, if it comes to it?"

"Whatever good the bean dust did, you just undid it."

"Remind me to show you pictures of a post-splenectomy patient. Then you'll know where all your little paper clamps disappear to."

"And that made things so much better."

Jack laughs silently and squeezes Ianto's hand. "I took the coward's way out."

The abrupt change back to topic makes Ianto reel. "What do you mean?"

Jack shrugs. "I started avoiding problems. Blending in with the natives, like this place was just a job at the Time Agency. I still don't understand the problem people have here. In the Boeshane, the only sexual crimes were non-con, disease transmission and obfuscating your reproductive status."

"So you had to look it up in your own language," says Ianto, softly.

Jack looks at him.

Ianto looks from Jack's eyes to the wrist strap, where Jack's hand is still resting.

Jack's hand curls up towards Ianto's even as Ianto turns his own hand upwards and meets it. "Yeah." It's whispered and stilted. "And I still don't understand."

"Jack...." Ianto tries to sit up, but it hurts too much. "Fuck! Jack, come here...."

Jack lies down carefully beside Ianto.

Ianto turns and reaches.... "Could you take this stupid needle out, please?"

"The doctor said—"

"Fuck the doctor!"

"You're saying that a lot, lately." Jack removes the needle.

"Am I bleeding? Shouldn't we be applying pressure there?"

"Nope! You've had Biehne dust, remember?"

Ianto stares at him.

"Well don't take my word for it, feel it up!"

Ianto palpates the area. "There's nothing!"

Jack smiles at him.

"You're forgiven."

"For what? Breaking the coffee machine again?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, but it was worth a try."

"Jack...."

Jack sighs and settles into Ianto's ginger embrace. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." He shifts away from the pain. "And I don't think you took the coward's way out. Not any more."

Jack is silent.

Ianto can't really see Jack's face, backlit as his head is by the moon. "Is expedience the same as capitulation?"

Jack pulls away. "Not always, no."

"Is it always a bad thing?"

"Which? Expedience or capitulation?"

"Well, both, I suppose."

"I guess not. I mean, if it means losing some dignity to save a life, that's a good trade, right?"

"What if it means losing your self-respect?"

"Is that why you aren't 'out'?"

"I have no self-respect."

Jack snorts. "Yeah, right! No, really, Ianto, why are you so scared of what you are?"

"I'm not."

"Okay, I'm not a 'meet the fam' kind of guy, but seriously? You told us your father was a master tailor, you pretend you're not head-over-heels in love with me – which, by the way, is probably a wise move on your part – and your sister still thinks you're straight. So tell me: how does that make you proud of who and what you are?"

Ianto finds it a little hard to breathe. "Never looked at it that way. And, er, you never have to introduce me as your partner again. I'm sorry you're still disappointed in me."

"Ianto!" Jack growls. "I didn't mean it like that, and you know it! I'm just saying there's a thing about glass houses and stones you might want to explore sometime soon."

"Okay, I've already told you about my dad, so I'll start by saying I can't help my feelings for you. I didn't want them, and I know you don't like it when people fall in love with you, so I pretend it's not happening."

"And isn't that capitulating?" Jack makes it look like he's just stretching when he gets up.

"I dunno. I thought I was doing what was expedient."

"Touché."

"So where does that leave us, Jack? Do I retcon you so you don't remember me admitting my feelings for you, or do you retcon me so I don't remember this conversation? Or do we just break it off?"

"You know I don't do commitment."

"Hence the capitulation or expedience. Whatever you want to call it. And you did commit—" Ianto bites it off and wishes he had retcon in his night table.

"To exclusivity. I remember. And I've kept that promise, haven't I?"

"What about that soldier in the bar?"

"I told you that was strictly professional!"

"Yeah, but did you have sex with him?"

"I thought when you lot said, 'strictly professional' in that context, it meant no sex. Jesus, Ianto!"

"And I thought that when you said 'strictly professional', you meant that you had to have sex with the subject in order to elicit sensitive information."

"See? Language is complicated."

"I thought I just said that."

Jack is pacing, like a tiger in a cage.

Ianto should feel more tired than he does. Perhaps that dust stuff is kicking in. But he's not prepared for the sharp clarity muddling its way through his mind. "I don't mean to hold you here."

Jack stops by the window, arms folded, turned three-quarters towards Ianto, face invisible. "I wanted to be a good man."

The change of subject makes Ianto's brain flip. The wrist strap starts to warm and buzz against his skin, making him realise that he has forgotten to breathe. He starts to sit up. "Why?"

"At first it was to impress the Doctor. And then it was because ... it feels good."

"Except when it sucks." Ianto stands up slowly, noticing that his knee feels much better and his back doesn't hurt. He moves cautiously towards Jack.

"Still feels better than running a con."

"Then you are a good man." Ianto looks directly, blindly, into Jack's eyes, searching. "I can't imagine what it's like for you, having to live your life in a place so alien to you. Where you have no frame of reference for the hate you can face."

Jack sighs and kisses Ianto slowly, first on the forehead, then on the mouth, lingering softly as Ianto aches. "There's bigotry all through the universe, Ianto. And I've lived here long enough to understand it. And to see how it affects other people when I stand back."

"We're Torchwood, Jack. We have to do horrible things for Queen and Country."

"So you want me to keep ... being expedient? Like I did yesterday?"

"Not when we're off-duty."

"We were on duty when you got bashed."

"Sort of. We were taking a break from catching Weevils."

"So not when—"

"Jack." Ianto sighs and grasps the back of Jack's neck because it's still too painful to grab the back of his own. "It's down to judgement, isn't it? You have to trust yours. We all do. Well, Gwen and I do. Now. And Tosh and Owen did."

"And look where it got them."

"It got them heroes' deaths. They followed you, trusted you, and that's why they were there to save everyone in the path of Turnmill's destruction."

Jack nods.

Ianto kisses him, knowing he doesn't believe it. "Is that capitulation or expedience?"

"I don't know."

"Either way, I'll take it. I'm too turned inside out to argue any more."

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"I'm counting on it. I always sleep better with you."

Jack strokes Ianto's face as though he's memorising it.

"I love it when you do that," Ianto murmurs.

Jack kisses Ianto with gentle fervour. "I know."

Ianto explores Jack's face the same way. Only he finds moisture on Jack's cheek. He kisses there. "You really are a good man, Jack."

Jack snuffles a laugh. "I thought I was a monster."

"You were."

Jack stiffens.

"I've been reading. And I'm a speed-reader."

Jack freezes.

"I'm Torchwood, remember? Longer than any of the others you picked, and with much worse leadership." He smoothes his hands over Jack's shoulders. "Whatever you did in the past, you're a good man now. Just remember that when you're confused over whether to sidestep the bigots in the universe or beat them up."

Silence.

Ianto turns and makes his way back to the bed before he falls over. "In other words, use good judgement and don't be an arse." He gets back into bed and feels the ache in his left side start to subside as he pulls the covers slowly up.

"So what you're saying is there are no easy answers...."

"At least you're honest about your impairment."

Jack laughs, at last. "Ianto Jones...." He slides himself into bed, fondling the wrist strap, slipping his fingers between it and Ianto's skin. He slides around Ianto in the most delicious way.

Ianto is stunned that it doesn't hurt. "How are you doing that?"

"What, this?" Jack wraps his leg around and down Ianto's, pulling him closer.

"Ohhh... Wait ... how are you naked? And how am I naked all this time without knowing it until I feel your cock against mine? And how am I not hurting when you ... I'm not up to sex, Jack!"

"Okay, working backwards – I know, Biehne dust, you were pretty out of it for a while, and I'm really, really good." Jack lifts Ianto's wrist and pets the strap. "Besides, this thing has a clothing displacement module."

"Clothing displacement.... You mean, it strips people without their knowing it?"

Jack grins.

"Oh, God! Now you have to let me keep it."

"Not a chance! Besides, it's keyed to my DNA."

"Shouldn't be any problem for me to get some of your DNA."

"Cute as my wrist strap and my DNA look on you, no way. But I'll let you have supervised visits." Jack kisses Ianto as his mood shifts. "How about when you've recovered, I take you to the most romantic restaurant in Wales and we show all the other poor suckers how it's done?"

"I might vomit."

"I thought that's what you wanted all this time...."

"Not the way you've described it, no."

"Then what?"

"You take me to the best restaurant in Cardiff, and I promise nobody'll be able to get a foot round that table."

"Mmm.... I like that promise! But ... didn't I just offer you that?"

"No, you offered the most romantic restaurant in Wales. Rotten food, pink and lace everywhere and everything's served on doilies. Lisa made me go there once as punishment for losing a bet."

"What did you lose?"

"Apart from my dignity? Her last shilling."

"What was the bet?"

"That I could kiss a man and not get aroused."

"Wait a minute! I thought you said I was your first."

"You were. You are. Jimmy spiked my drink with Viagra."

"Sounds interesting!"

"You have no idea," Ianto groans.

"Oh, I think I do." Jack nudges Ianto's cock with his own. "You sure you're not up for sex?" he teases.

"Use good judgement and don't be an arse," Ianto reminds, albeit in sultry tones against Jack's gorgeous lips.

"I think I can manage that...."

*****

There is a pair of white cotton gloves, a very old card and a piece of paper on the night table the next day. The paper reads,

> _Ianto,_
> 
> I promised to show you the info on my family. Here's what I can manage today. Her name was Anna. Call me when you're ready to come to the Hub, and I'll pick you up.
> 
> Jack X

  
Ianto puts on the gloves and picks up the card. He blinks when he sees the picture of a noticeably younger Jack Harkness with a bride. He doesn't call Jack for an hour.


End file.
